Ramie’s brow wrinkled. One eyelid twitched spasmodically, one of the many side effects of her migraines. Any direct exposure to the sun or bright lights made the twitch more pronounced.
“Doctors don’t make house calls, and if we leave to go to the ER, I’ll be waiting for hours and it will be that much longer before we get a likeness of his face distributed. For his next victim, every minute counts.”
Dane shrugged. “Doctors make house calls when you’re Caleb Devereaux.”
“Of course,” Ramie muttered, pushing her fingertips in a tight circular motion at her temples. “And I did have medication but I used it sparingly because I don’t have a regular doctor anymore and I can’t just walk into the ER or an urgent care center and demand migraine meds. I lost it, and everything else I owned, escaping my stalker in Oklahoma.”
“I’ll ask Tori for a pill for you,” Dane said, his gaze gentle and his tone matching.
She wondered just how awful she looked and sounded for Dane and Eliza to be on virtual tiptoe around her. Then, as she took in what he’d said, she frowned and shook her head. The very last thing she wanted was to involve Tori. It was better for everyone if Tori remained in blissful ignorance locked behind the walls of her bedroom.
“Her doctor prescribed the medication after what happened last year because she gets debilitating headaches when she has visions or dreams. It might make you a little drowsy, but that wouldn’t be a bad thing,” Dane said pointedly. “I imagine you could do with some actual rest rather than running on fumes like you are now.”
As he spoke the last, he rose from his seat on the couch and made a gesture to the artist, who’d patiently tweaked and rearranged each time Ramie got it wrong.
“Take a five-minute break. I’ll get her something for her headache. There’s no sense in pressuring her more right now. A few more minutes won’t make a difference if he’s already moved on to his next victim.”
Mocking laughter echoed in Ramie’s mind and she squeezed her eyes shut, her hands trembling violently in her lap. She wouldn’t let him unbalance her. He wasn’t really there.
The ache in her head intensified, the pressure building so much that it felt as though something inside her would shatter into a million pieces. It was as though someone was piercing her skull.
Too late . . .
The thought drifted through her mind leaving her to question whether it was her own manifestation of her deepest fear or if the killer had truly communicated with her through their link.
Of course she wasn’t imagining it. She wasn’t an idiot and it had been as plain as day the night before last when he’d told her there was nowhere she was safe from him. She wasn’t a hysterical person by nature, though to anyone seeing her now it would appear she was a complete nutcase.
Dane didn’t wait for confirmation or for her to refuse his offer. He simply left the room.
When he didn’t reappear within a few minutes, Eliza frowned and checked her watch. Her foot tapped impatiently on the floor and then she glanced at Ramie, apology in her eyes.
“I know how hard this must be for you, Ramie. Or maybe I don’t. I’ll spare you any condescension by claiming I know what you’re going through. I’m not trying to say I’ve experienced anything on the scale that you have. But I can imagine how scared you must be and I can also imagine me not having the courage to see it through like you have.”
Ramie laughed, the sound jarring and abrasive, scratching like a steel wool scouring pad over her skin.
“Scared? Absolutely. Courageous? Not even close. If it weren’t for Caleb, I’d still be out there hiding, trying to cover my trail and praying that each day wouldn’t be my last. If I was brave—or whatever . . .” she said derisively.
She paused a moment and swallowed back the knot in her throat. Then she looked straight through Eliza.
“If I had courage, then all the women he killed in his efforts to get to me would still be alive. If I was brave, I would have taken a stand much sooner instead of acting like a frightened child and burying my head in the sand.”
She held up her hand when Eliza launched an immediate protest.
“Save your breath,” Ramie said, fatigue swamping her. “I didn’t say that to earn your pity or to get you to argue and tell me it wasn’t my fault. Nor do I expect or want validation. Rationally I know I can’t be held accountable for the actions of others. But at the same time, if I had only tried to confront him instead of spending the last year running and constantly looking over my shoulder then maybe he’d be in prison right now. Or dead. And all those women who died would still be alive, enjoying their families, children . . .”